


Not quite like you remembered

by i_claudia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it doesn't count, he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not quite like you remembered

**Author's Note:**

> I'm catching up on everything I posted around the intewebs during the 2013 summer pornathon. Here's the first thing, which was not actually written for pthon at all, but for teprometo. Because Reasons.
> 
> They're half-brothers here; Merlin is actively (enthusiastically, even) consenting but his age is never specified (I thought of him as barely legal but the case for jailbait is easy to make).

He remembers Merlin as a squalling baby, red-faced and irritable and in the way all the time. He'd been packed away to boarding school when his father started a new family, and he'd jumped at the opportunity to get away. Boarding school had turned into university had turned into a job in Geneva, and he can't remember the last time he spent even Christmas at home. He's seen Merlin grow up from afar, in the cards his father's secretary sends, but he'd never noticed, never looked, too intent instead on the new lines written in his father's face and his mother's favorite ornaments still decorating the tree in the background.

None of the cards had done Merlin justice in the least, because Merlin, it seems, has exited the awkwardness of pubescence with a singular vengeance. Merlin is young and full of the passion of all teenagers convinced they know the world already; his face is fresh and his muscles flex agreeably beneath his shirt, under Arthur's hand. 

He feels the wrongness of it as a prickling heat beneath his skin, a sick sort of rolling in his stomach, but he can't quite pull away. He'll stop it, he will, just as soon as he catches his breath.

Maybe it doesn't count, he thinks. Merlin's pinned between him and the wall, all soft noises and youthful inexperience showing through in his damned wriggling movements, but maybe that's okay. It doesn't really count, because they're only half-brothers, anyway. It doesn't matter because this is nothing more than a hurried tryst in a shadowy corner, a moment snatched while Morgana's best man gives his speech. It doesn't mean anything, because Arthur never does this: he finds women and takes them back to his apartment and makes them breakfast in the morning; he's never so much as looked at a boy before. His hips rocking into Merlin's thigh, his lips sliding harsh over Merlin's, his fingers plucking at Merlin's buttons—it's nothing, just the champagne speaking. It's the over-salted coq au vin, and the scotch he'd downed in his room before the ceremony, and the pressure of avoiding everyone he's related to without appearing to avoid them.

Well. Almost everyone.

“Fuck,” Merlin pants, sliding a hand down over Arthur's arse, fingers of his other hand tangled tight at Arthur's nape, pulling the hair there hard enough to hurt. His breath stutters; he's on his tiptoes, every tendon in him pulled tight. “Fuck, you feel—”

Arthur doesn't want to hear how he feels, what Merlin's thinking. He kisses Merlin again, too rough as he swallows the words unsaid from Merlin's mouth.

“Come upstairs with me,” he says, and Merlin bites too hard at his lip, grabs his wrist.

“Too late,” says Merlin, shoving their hands down, sliding Arthur's fingers into his trousers. “Just— _shit_ , just—yeah. Fuck, like that.” 

His cock is heavy in Arthur's hand, smooth and unfamiliar, and Arthur bends his head, working his hand steadily, every nerve stretched to the breaking point. Merlin chokes on gasps and broken words, and fuck, there's the applause, the toast, they're missing it and they aren't hidden, not at all, the minute anyone comes down this hall to find the bathroom, they're fucked—

But fuck, that thought does nothing but send a terrible thrill right through him, a full-body shiver, and suddenly he's that much closer to ruining his best suit. “Gonna get caught,” he murmurs, hardly aware of what he's saying. “Someone's gonna see; come on, Merlin, come for me.”

Merlin makes a funny noise, a strangled sort of laughing sob, and comes in Arthur's hand, his head thrown back and his neck so beautifully exposed Arthur can't help but run his tongue along it, taste the salt and the cheap cologne covering the skin which barely needs shaving. “Fuuck,” Merlin says, the stuttered syllable drawn-out and so soft that Arthur nearly misses it. Merlin's clinging to him, still pressed close, his fingers still knotted in Arthur's hair, and when the noise of conversation swells close to them, just out of sight of their corner, Arthur bites down hard on his cheek to keep himself from coming.

“Come upstairs with me,” he repeats, lips against Merlin's throat, his nose pressed in the hollow behind Merlin's ear, where it smells like soap and boy-sweat: wholesome, innocent, utterly irresistible. 

Merlin shudders in his arms, but his eyes, when he looks at Arthur's, are wickedly eager. He leans back to hold a hand up between them, Arthur's hotel keycard between two fingers. Arthur hadn't even noticed when Merlin had picked it from his back pocket. “There's a service elevator around the corner,” Merlin says, wrapping his free hand around the knot of Arthur's tie. “And I've got condoms in my back pocket.” 

“...Shit,” says Arthur faintly, but when Merlin tugs at him, he follows. God help him, he follows.


End file.
